Friday, November 30, 2007

Pilgrim's Progress

I remember the old days,when it took some effortfor me to insult people,when I had to thinkfor a minute beforeI could do or saysomething offensive.

I used to be a nice guy,I was always politein thought and actand everyone loved me for it,deemed me charming, chivalrous, suave.

Nowadays I fart a lotand pick my nose at dinner.I stare at peoplewith an ugly stare,pick fights with the nicest people.Every other word out of my mouthis "fuck" or "bitch" or "asshole"or "fuck you, you asshole bitch."

Still some people love me.They know that with themI'm joking when I saythey've got shit for eyeballsand piss for blood.They think my fartsare a quaint manifestationof my grand eccentricity.

As for the rest of you,I'm being truthful with my insults.My manners towards you are atrociousbecause I just don't carefor you.

But when you see meglaring at some nunas I piss on the sidewalkin the late afternoonor early eveningin the middle of a crowd of peoplejust getting off from work,don't feel sorry for meand don't hold your heads up high with disdain,thinking there's somethingwrong with me.

Just rememberthat in a better worldI'd be a role model, a saint.I'd be the guru with bloodshot eyes,the oracle with a six packyou turn toin times of needand in times of trouble,the one who'll tell youwhere you can go,who you should fuck,and where you can shove it.

And as you walk through the wilderness of this worldlet my frank words and ways sustain you.Let them be your bedlam and your vanity,your guiding light and your exquisite confusion.

Because although you may end upsmelling just as bad as I doyou'll become truly refined,truly wise,and truly bright,and this world will be a better placebecause of it.

NYDC BLUES: How I Tried To Escape The Sick World Of Poetry (1995)

New York: it was where I did my first poetry slam. It was where I began to get my work published regularly. It was where I first appeared on national television. It was where I fell truly in love for the first time. It was where for the first time in my life I felt I was in a city where I belonged. It was also where, after having cast off the last vestiges of my youthful insanity, I vowed to give up poetry completely.

About Me

José Padua’s poetry and fiction have appeared in Bomb, Salon.com, Exquisite Corpse, Another Chicago Magazine, Unbearables, Crimes of the Beats, Up is Up, but So Is Down: New York's Downtown Literary Scene, 1974-1992, and many other journals and anthologies. He has also written features and reviews for NYPress, Washington City Paper, the Brooklyn Rail and the New York Times. He has read his work at the Lollapalooza Festival, CBGBs, the Knitting Factory, the Black Cat Club, the Public Theater, the Washington Project for the Arts, and many other venues.